


Full of Grace

by sksdwrld



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Catholic School, Improper Use of Catholic Rituals, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-15 03:01:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9215720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sksdwrld/pseuds/sksdwrld
Summary: Teenage Arthur is struggling to cope with the death of his father and lashes out in all the ways he can think of.Mordred is the resident troublemaker at Saint Benedict's and to complicate matters,   he has the worst crush on Father Merlin.Merlin is the newest Priest at Saint Benedict's.  He's great with the students, but maybe he understands them a little too much.When their paths all cross, hearts are bound to be broken.





	1. Chapter 1

The peals of the morning bells echoed across the courtyard as Merlin sprinted through. His black robes flapped behind him and stuck to his shins and he gripped the wooden cross he wore around his neck to keep it from hitting him in the face. Inside the rectory, he hardly slowed, and sister Freya hid a smile behind her hand.

 

Sister Katherine did not find his antics so amusing and scowled at him. “For shame, Merlin.”

 

He just flashed her a grin and dashed up the steps that led to the chamber that they used as an office, his sneakers skidding as he slowed to a stop and pulled the door open.

 

Inside, Father Gaius sat behind the desk, and before it was a surly, middle aged man with dark hair and a pinched mouth, and an arrogant looking blond teen with an aqualine nose and bright blue eyes. 

 

The smile faded from Merlin’s face and he attempted to compose himself, smoothing down the front of his robes and patting his hair. “Sorry, sorry I'm late. There was a--” Don't say problem, his brain supplied. “Issue with some of the boys--” Not that that was any better and he tried not to wince. He turned toward Gaius placatingly. “You know Mordred...”

 

“Indeed I do,” the older priest interrupted, saving Merlin from turning into a babbling idiot. “And I know you, Father Merlin, not a timely bone in your body. Now if you'll kindly greet Agravaine Swift and Arthur Pendragon, we can start our meeting.”

 

A flush heated Merlin’s cheeks and he reached to shake each of their hands. “Please excuse my tardiness. I am father Merlin Emrys. It's a pleasure to have you here, although I am sorry for the circumstances under which you've travelled.”

 

Agravaines eyes flicked to Gaius as Merlin took a seat. “It appears that your cohort lacks discipline but not decorum. And that is unfortunate because Arthur is in need of discipline, but not decorum.”

 

“Father Merlin is but one of many men of the cloth here,” Gaius replied calmly. He was recently ordained and is the youngest member of our staff. He is a bit unconventional, but very in touch with the students here--”

 

Arthur didn't bother to conceal a short of amusement and earned a nasty look from Agravaine. 

 

Gaius continued as if there has been no transgression. “Father Merlin serves as our youth counselor here at Saint Benedict's and we are quite pleased with the progress he has made since his arrival, both with himself and the students. As you can imagine, we have many troubled young men from all walks of life and I am sure that Arthur will benefit from his time with us.”

 

“Yes, well.” Agravaine licked his teeth. “It isn't as if we haven't exhausted the alternatives.”

 

“No doubt.” Gaius said with a bland inflection. It was no secret that St. Benedict's carried a reputation as a last resort for unteachable boys with behavioral problems, although Gaius had been trying for years to sell the idea that the boys wouldn't be so bad off to begin with, if St. Benedict's was considered as an option sooner.

 

Gaius drummed his fingers on top of a manilla file and cleared his throat. “I am to understand that you have been having trouble processing the death of your father, Arthur?”

 

Arthur, who had been staring off into the corner, slowly looked over at Gaius, lip curling in a sneer. Once more, Agravaine shot him a look to silence him and interrupted “He's processed the fact just fine. The problem lies in upholding the sort of comport befitting a young man set to inherit a fortune. He's spoilt and doesn't think he needs to take direction from anyone, and he's too large to be put over the knee, though I certainly approve if you can manage.”

 

Merlin felt his mouth press into a thin line before Gaius spoke.

 

“We frown on corporeal punishment here at St. Benedict's, however we do employ several other forms of discipline which appear to be more effective,” Gaius opened a drawer and leaves through a folder for a pamphlet. 

 

Agravaine waved his hand dismissively and reached into his pocket for a pen. “I don't need the details. I've made a handsome donation and I expect that you'll straighten Arthur out using whatever means necessary. If you'll pass me whatever paperwork that requires signing... I do have a business to run.”

 

“Of course,” Gaius shut the drawer and pushed over a set of facsimiles that Agravaine had sent in advance. The signature lines were marked with yellow arrow shaped stickers and Agravaine scribbled his signature without hesitation, leaving the stack in the middle of the desk before standing.

 

“Arthur,” Agravaine looked down at him without affection or emotion. 

 

Arthur didn't look up, let alone rise. “Uncle.”

 

Agravaine shrugged into his coat. “I’d tell you not to embarrass me here, but honestly I'm not sure there's much else you can do at this point. Do try not to get expelled before Christmas. I'd hate to have to leave you behind while the rest of us are basking on the Mediterranean.”

 

The threat seemed out of place and Arthur snorted again. Agravaine rolled his eyes and then tipped his head to Merlin and Gaius, who had gotten to their feet. “Fathers. I'm sure you're busy. I'll see myself out. Thanks for accommodating us on short notice.”

 

Gaius was murmuring a placating response but Agravaine was out the door. Merlin was still in shock from the whole encounter and he startled when Arthur finally spoke.

 

“Excuse his hasty departure. He finds all the crucifixes and holy water rather unnerving.”

 

“Not the religious sort, is he?” Merlin managed. 

 

“No, he's the devil, you big-eared twat,” Arthur rolled his eyes.

 

“That's Father Big-Eared Twat to you,” Merlin recovered quickly and gestured to the duffle on the floor while Arthur was still gaping in surprise. “Might as well get you settled, then. Get your things.”

 

Arthur sat a few minutes longer then got up and collected his things. Gaius was openly smirking. “I hope you're ready for us, Arthur. We're ready for you."


	2. Chapter 2

St. Benedict's was a small school, composed of a poorly maintained cathedral, a school building in poor repair, a multipurpose yard that had once had a functional fountain, and the dormitory that looked positively haunted. Arthur barely paid attention as the beanpole of a priest gave him the campus tour, preferring to orient himself at a later time, possibly even that night.

 

They finished up in his room, which was furnished with two cots that looked like they had been recovered from the rubbish bin of a dilapidated prison and a single desk with two wooden chairs snuggled together in the knee space.

 

“Is there a chamber pot at my disposal or is this prison equipped with running water?” Arthur quipped.

 

“If you want to leave your bag on the bed, we have an indoor latrine that empties into the basement. The students take turns cleaning it out on a weekly basis. I'd be happy to show you.” Father Merlin crossed his arms over his chest patiently.

 

Arthur tossed the bag on the neater of the two beds on the side of the room that looked unoccupied and mirrored the priest’s stance, not entirely sure he was joking but unwilling to admit it. “By all means, lead the way.”

 

Father Merlin led him a short ways down the hall and into a bathroom with two toilets, a urinal, two shower stalls, and two small sinks. The yellow light made the beige tile glow a sickly hue, and the room had an undercurrent of piss beneath the minty urinal cakes and the cleaning solution. Arthur suspected that the smell could never truly eradicated after decades of use.

 

Their eyes met in the mirror and Arthur saw the look of disgust on his own face, then quickly schooled it into a neutral expression. 

 

Father Merlin moved toward the door. “I'll give you some privacy and when you're done, we'll discuss your class schedule and our expectations for you here. The rest of the boys will be back from classes soon and we'll make introductions before dinner.”

 

Arthur nodded and Father Merlin stepped out. He relieved himself and washed his hands, lingering longer than necessary and staring at himself in the mirror.

 

It had been two and a half years since his  
father had passed away, a massive heart attack claiming him in the midst of a business trip. Arthur had been away at school at the time and it had been months since he'd seen him, but he was looking forward to returning home for the summer break to spend some time with him. Instead, he'd made the trip for the funeral and obligatory paperwork, naming him heir of the Pendragon empire, when he came of age. 

 

His uncle Agravaine was afforded temporary leadership of the company and given custody of Arthur to boot. 

 

For the rest of the school term, Arthur remembered feeling numb. His grades coasted along on sheer pity from his professors alone.

 

That summer, his numbness gave way to rage. It wasn't enough that he'd lost his mother before he'd had a chance to know her, that his father had buried himself in work to ignore his grief. Then he'd become an orphan, struggling to stay in his uncle's good graces, which was a near impossible task.

 

On returning to school, he found he had very little patience for it all, and when he found himself the object of ridicule amongst former friends, he'd gone off the deep end, entirely. 

 

Arthur's fist curled loosely at his side and he lifted it to look at the knuckles, mottled with scars where they had once been pristine, like this place had been once, he imagined.

 

In the hallway, Father Merlin was leaning against the wall, vigorously thumbing a mobile phone that he tucked away inside his robes with a sheepish look. It struck a chord of ire in him, since he'd turned over his own mobile to Agravaine that morning. 

 

“Important message to the pope?” Arthur raised his brows.

 

“Just one of the lesser bishops,” Father Merlin replied loftily. 

 

Arthur rolled his eyes.

 

“You will learn quickly, if you haven't already, that sarcasm is met in kind with me. Kindness is met with kindness, and anger --”

 

“With anger. Yeah, I got it.” Arthur interrupted.

 

“No,” Father Merlin touched Arthur's bicep. “With patience. You are here for a reason. It's okay to be angry, Arthur. It's okay to be sad. To have emotions. That's okay. It just isn't alright to treat people poorly because of it.”

 

Arthur shrugged him off with a scowl and Merlin took his hand back and gestured down the hallway with it.

 

“I'll take you to the common area and go over your schedule. You can let me know if you have any questions.”

 

As it turned out, Arthur didn't have questions. Morning mass daily, followed by breakfast, and then first bell. Maths, science, English, some bullshit course called emotional well-being, followed by Lunch, history, catechism, and technology, however vague that was. Phys Ed at the end of it all, then an hour of downtime in the dorms, dinner, chores, and study time. It was clear they intended to wear them out by the end of the day, or at least, give it their very best effort.

 

Arthur wondered what it would take to get expelled from this hell hole, and hoped that the incoming students would give him the very insight he needed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers note at the end for those who may harbor concerns in regards to Merlin's character...

Mordred tromped along in line with his classmates, sweaty, out of breath, and almost too tired to care. That is, until he saw the short blond standing next to Father Merlin. Of course, beside Father Merlin, almost anyone looked short, and as they neared, it dawned on him that the new guy was actually rather tall himself.

“Dibs on first shower,” Mordred announced and made a beeline to his bedroom to collect his things. With fifteen (now sixteen) blokes needing to clean themselves every day, there was a strict limit on the length of the shower. Fifteen minutes was usually enough time to clean most of the nooks and crannies and bang out a quick wank, but tonight, Mordred forwent the wank in favor of a thorough wash. He emerged from the bathroom with his towel cinched at his waist and paused to look down the hall and into the common area, where the other lads circled the new bloke like starving sharks.

Father Merlin hung back from the group and was propped against the frame of the fire doors that separated the hallway from the common area. His head rolled on the wall, bringing his gaze to meet with Mordred's, and he straightened up. “Get dressed, Mordred. None of your shenanigans tonight.”

Mordred hadn't planned on shenanigans, but since Father Merlin insisted that there were to be none, he loosed his hold on his towel, letting it drop down and putting half his arse on display as he sashayed down the hall.

Father Merlin didn't say anything, but Mordred was certain that if he turned, they'd meet eyes again. The priest was thirsty as fuck, Mordred could tell, and that was convenient, because Mordred was hell bent on putting a cross shaped notch on his bedpost. And although Mordred had been here for a solid two years without managing more than an inappropriate glance, he was convinced that he'd wear father Merlin down, eventually. 

In his room, Mordred dressed for dinner; his best pair of clean denims and a snug black sweater over a white tee. Then, he carefully combed his hair, parting it to one side and plumping his curls with his fingertips. Mischief sang through his veins and the thrill of the prowl had him already half hard.

Despite this, he sauntered toward the common area and took a seat away from the others, feigning disinterest. Only Elyan was missing from the group, and that was no surprise.

Gwaine peeled himself from the others and trotted over to Mordred like the loyal dog he was, then perched on the arm of Mordred's chair. “Arthur Pendragon. Of _the_ Pendragons.”

“No,” Mordred startled in disbelief. “He's taking the piss, numpty.”

“Straight from Father's mouth.”

“Straight in my mouth, if I have my way,” Mordred murmured, relaxing back into his chair. “What's he doing in this pit?”

“Dunno. We'll get it out of him at dinner, I suspect.”

“Aye,” Mordred smirked again. “We will.”

Under their watchful eyes, Arthur made the usual small talk, and he didn't so much as look toward Gwaine and Mordred. 

It wasn't much longer before the dinner bell rang, and like good little automatons, everyone began to file toward the dining hall on the first floor of the dormitory. The youngest children were already in line and everyone else took their places, except for those whose chore was dinner duty. They were already manning the stations, decked in hairnets and gloves, slotted serving spoons and tongs in hand.

There was the customary complaints about the food, though the jostling belied their eagerness. Mordred hung back, watching Arthur. His full pink lips were slightly down turned and though he was feigning boredom, his eyes tracked the room, lingering on the exits. Clever lad.

Once they had their trays, Arthur followed Percy to a table, and Mordred followed him, plunking his tray down across from Arthur and taking his seat. 

“I suppose you're the Lord of the school, come to tell me to kiss your arse or else.” Arthur tucked into his meal with less hesitation than Mordred expected from someone so posh.

Mordred chuckled and leaned forward, ignoring his own plate of chicken-something and rice with vegetables. “You're a master of observation, are you Arthur Pendragon? But you're only half right. I'm no bully.”

“No, he's a slag!” Valiant crowed from the end of the table, where he’d obviously been hanging on every word of their exchange. 

Mordred didn't even give Valiant the courtesy of a sideways glance. He simply waited patiently for Arthur's response.

It came after another forkful of rice. “To whom do I owe the pleasure?”

“Well, I certainly won't complain if you reciprocate,” Mordred purred with a sly smile. “I'm Mordred.”

“Mordred,” Arthur repeated and put his fork down. He used the paper napkin to wipe his mouth and finally looked up, those piercing blue eyes meeting Mordred’s for the first time. “You gave Old Big Ears some trouble this morning, I heard.”

“Ah," Mordred laughed and reached for his roll. “My reputation precedes me. But let me assure you, it was no trouble.”

Arthur snorted softly. “What did you do?”

“What did you?” Mordred returned, taking the opening as it arose.

Shrugging nonchalantly, Arthur returned to his meal. “What haven't I done?”

“I call bullshit,” Gwaine butted in from Mordred’s right side as he took a seat.

Arthur shrugged again. “I don't particularly care if you believe me or not.”

“Nothing to prove, nothing to lose, eh?” Mordred lifted some chicken to his mouth and chewed slowly.

“Well, why should you have all the fun at story time?” Arthur asked without answering the question. “What are all of you in for?”

Mordred curled one leg beneath his arse on the chair and sat back on it. “Ah, so that's your game, is it? Tit for tat? Alright, Pendragon.” He gestured down the table with his fork. “Valiant’s your run of the mill playground bully with his cronies, Tristain and Tom. Leon and Lance are here for the fine education. Cedric’s a liar. Cenred's a thief. Gwaine is a compulsive masturbator, and Percy is the golden boy.”

“Gets away with everything?” Arthur asked, looking as though he were making a mental note about everyone thus far.

“No, he wets the bed,” Mordred said simply. “Cornelius is in the unfortunate circumstance of being an atheist from a family of devout Catholics. George is an orphan, grew up here. And everyone else down that end is your generic bad boy, except Torch.”

“Torch?” Arthur looked down the table where Mordred was gesturing. A sad-looking boy sat by himself, slowly eating. 

“Elyan. Burnt his house and a couple of shops to the ground. Doesn't talk but I don't know anyone who's fucked with him that's come out the winner.”

“Shit. Who's he bunk with?”

“Up til now, nobody. Guess you get the honor, Princess.”

Arthur exhaled slowly and scooped up some more rice in his fork. It hovered in the air in front of his mouth and then he looked back to Mordred. “And what about you?”

“What about me?” Mordred played dumb.

“Why are you here?”

It was Mordred's turn to shrug but Gwaine leaned in predictably. “Mordred fucks anything that moves.”

Arthur snorted. “Is that all?”

“Well, now you've got the story on all of us. What's your deal, Pendragon?” Mordred pressed.

Once more, Arthur shrugged. “Generic bad boy, I guess.”

“Uh huh,” Mordred rolled his eyes then guessed, “Kicked out of Eton?”

“Eton, Bedford, Monmouth, and Dulwich. Strathallan refused to take me.” There was a quiet sort of pride in his voice and Mordred whistled under his breath.

“Generic, my arse. You don't get kicked out of the top prep schools in England and sent here for being generic. Not with the sort of money you come from. You don't get refused by Strathallan with ‘general mischief’ in your file.”

“Playground bully,” Arthur said as if the words themselves were foul in his mouth. “Liar. Thief. Rabble-rouser. Unmotivated. Prone to violence. Bad attitude. Disrespectful to teachers. Incorrigible. Truant. Escape artist. Vandal.” His eyes locked with Mordred’s. “I'll fuck anything that moves.”

“Prove it,” Gwaine breathed, completely enthralled by Arthur.

“How?” Arthur asked without tearing his eyes away. 

Mordred swallowed and felt his heartbeat strengthen. “Meet me in the bathroom tonight at eleven.”

“Ha.” Arthur picked up his roll and tore a piece off, buttering it sparingly. “I'm sorry, I have other plans.”

“All mouth and no trousers, this one...” Gwaine jerked his head at Arthur. 

Arthur set down his knife and stared at Mordred. “Is that what you think? I'll shag you right here.”

“Thought you didn't have anything to prove,” Mordred smirked.

“I don't. But might as well have a go of being expelled on my first day, I haven't done that one before.” He pushed his tray aside and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his polo. “If you're game, that is.”

“I've never been gamer,” Mordred grinned, licking his lips. Calling Arthur's bluff.

Except it wasn't a bluff. Arthur was on the tabletop in a matter of seconds, hauling Mordred up by his sweater and fixing their mouths together right there amidst the dinner trays. A shocked murmur arose in the dining room and quickly escalated to general chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlin will not have a sexual role in this fic.


	4. Chapter 4

Merlin watched over his table from the rear of the dinner line. He was more vigilant than some of the others, who had less rowdy age groups without new students, but despite the fact that Mordred had sat down with Arthur, things seemed to be going smoothly.

When he finally reached the service table, Merlin paused to complement young Seamus McGee on handling the plating line. He almost didn't notice the hush that fell over the dining hall, but there was no ignoring the screeching that commenced moments after.

Merlin turned back, groaning inwardly as he noted the grappling duo from his own group of students. He should have expected it; should have taken better precautions to prevent this sort of thing. Trusting too much was admittedly one of his downfalls. He sprinted toward Arthur and Mordred even though two other priests had left their tables and were headed toward the melee.

Shock rippled through Merlin as he realized that the boys were not so much fighting as they were tearing at each others clothes while snogging, and then Arthur leaned back, shoving Mordred's jumper up before licking down his torso. Merlin was close enough to see the pink point of his tongue tip and barely repressed a shudder.

Father Shaw barreled through the loosely assembled crowd, reaching Arthur first. He hauled Arthur off of Mordred, restraining him with a tight grip on the bicep even though Arthur wasn't struggling to free himself. As Arthur's eyes met Merlin’s, he smiled so darkly that Merlin had to look away.

Mordred was still sprawled on the tabletop, clothes and hair in disarray. His chest was heaving and his eyes were glazed, pupils wide and dark. Merlin helped him sit up first, and then coaxed him off the tabletop, pulling his jumper down to cover his pale skin, bitten red and glistening with Arthur's spit. There was a smattering of rice stuck to the cotton weave and Merlin brushed them off brusquely to avoid confusing Mordred, who leaned back into the touch anyway.

“You could have at least let him finish,” Mordred complained, though he smiled back at Merlin

“They don't seem to keen on dinner and a show,” Arthur waggled his eyebrows and laughed lasciviously.

“Dinner is over for you lot,” Father Shaw said coldly.

Merlin, who never did handle missing a meal well, quickly interjected. “The three of us will finish dinner in my quarters.”

“Your _private_ quarters?” Mordred purred and leaned back against Merlin.

Merlin righted him with an insensitive push and stepped back. “Mordred, go to the kitchen and get two rags. Damp, mind you, not sopping, and clean this mess up. Those of you who lost your dinners, get back in line. Father Shaw, dismiss those on cleanup duty tonight. We will return to clean the hall after I've counseled them.” He reached for Arthur, touching his shoulder.

Father Shaw relinquished his grip with a snort and he turned back to his table, muttering under his breath, “In my day, we would have caned the little miscreants.”

“Bet you liked it, too...” Arthur called after him, grinning when Father Shaw’s back twitched and straightened even more. Father Shaw barked at his own table of children as he returned, “Back to your trays. Quiet down. There will be no more discussion of the mortal sin you've just witnessed or the devil will consume you all.”

Merlin stood impassively, refusing to take Arthur's bait or even acknowledge what had happened. Public shaming only fueled the need for attention at any cost.

When Mordred returned with the rags, Merlin handed one to Arthur and nodded toward the table. “Go ahead. Opposite sides. No touching. Be quick about it.”

He supervised the cleanup which was rife with sly and flirtatious looks and so many almost-touches that Merlin lost track. When the table was clean again, he sent Mordred back to the kitchen with the rags and accompanied Arthur to the rear of the service line. After they had each acquired their meals, Merlin silently led them back to his chamber, four floors above the dining hall.


	5. Chapter 5

“Dibs on the bed,” Mordred hissed and skirted past Arthur as Father Merlin held open the door of his modest chamber. There was a single bed, not unlike the ones in Arthur's own room, pushed against the far wall, an ancient desk with a mismatched chair, a small, bunged up dresser, and a bookshelf shove at the head of the bed and doubling as a headboard.

Father Merlin flicked on the light as Arthur stepped hesitantly inside, then went to clear a space at the desk. He said nothing to Mordred, who was already cozying his bottom into the place where the priest would lay his head. 

Arthur let his tray drop with a clatter onto the desk and his hands went to his waistband. “The good father wants a private show, does he?”

“No, he does not!” Father Merlin said abruptly. 

Mordred was already grinning from ear to ear and Arthur let a smirk creep onto his face as he perched on the desk itself with his feet on the chair. Father Merlin set his tray on the door of the bed and went to retrieve a foot still from behind the door, then brought it into the room, folding his long legs awkwardly as he sat down and attempted to balance his tray on his knees. After a minute, he gave up and left the tray on the bed. Neither boy offered to switch with him and both stared intently at him as though _they_ were enjoying _his_ show.

Arthur, ignoring his dinner, reclined back on his palms, putting his torso in display. “I hear the Father is very _good_ with the boys, Mordred. Is that true?”

“I wouldn't know,” Mordred breathed, looking lustily at the priest who seemed torn between choking on a mouthful of rice and spitting it back on his plate.

Finally, Father Merlin swallowed and wiped his mouth with his paper napkin. “Stop that. Stop the sexual innuendo right now.”

“Does it turn you on?” Arthur leered.

“It turns me on,” Mordred echoed and squirmed purposefully on the mattress. The bedsprings creaked.

A faint flush broke out across Father Merlin's cheeks. “It's inappropriate,” he said and began sawing into his chicken. “Eat your dinner.”

“Is it inappropriate, or is it _sinful_?” Arthur let the word drip with lasciviousness and there was a glint in his eyes.

Father Merlin set his fork and knife down and looked sternly at Arthur. “I said that's enough. Eat your dinner. In silence.”

“What happens if I don't?” Arthur pressed, curious about just how far the young priest could be pushed.

Father Merlin leaned over his tray, blew on the vegetables that were guaranteed to be cold by now, and slated a glance at Mordred. “What happens when my rules are not followed, Mordred?”

Suddenly, all Mordred’s pretense of interest in Arthur fell away. His eyes dropped, he lifted his fork, and began to load it with food. “We don't get the privilege of coming to Father Merlin’s room.”

Arthur snorted. “Is that all? It's not terribly cozy, is it? Not something different than my own, as if there were something to enjoy here...”

Mordred looked from Arthur to Father Merlin, then put his head back down and began eating with earnest.

“He's controlling you, Mordred,” Arthur prompted. “You going to let him have the upper hand, just like that?”

The only response was the sound of utensils on the heavy ceramic plates and if chewing.

Arthur huffed out a dry laugh. “Going to ignore me now? Hate to break it to you, but I'm rather used to that...” The thing of it was, he was used to being ignored by Agravaine. He was not used to being ignored by his teachers and peers, and the longer the silence stretched on, the more uncomfortable and angry Arthur became.

“You can't ignore me,” Arthur announced with a haughty smirk and lobbed his roll at Father Merlin. It bounced off his plate and fell into his lap, startling the priest. But then, he simply picked it up and put it to one side, then continued to shovel rice into his mouth.

Arthur’s bricket of dry chicken followed the roll, this time knocking Father Merlin’s fork from his hand. The father bent to retrieve his fork and began polishing it on his sweater. The only thing he said was, “Mordred...” and Mordred, who'd stopped to stare, began to Hoover his own plate again.

“I won't be _ignored_!” Arthur raised his voice and his fingers curled threateningly around the rim of his plate. But he was. They went right on cleaning their plates, mopping up the last of the oily rice with their rolls. Arthur's gut clenched and his chest felt tight. He'd show them he couldn't be pacified like this, just like he'd shown everyone else who tried.

No one leapt up to stop him. They didn't so much as look at him.

Arthur's rage bubbled up and over. He flung the plate at Father Merlin. It caught him square in the chest, knocking a small ‘oomph’ from him before clattering against the plate in his lap. The rice, of course, showered him and the floor surrounding him. 

Father Merlin finally looked up and as he dusted himself off, calmly said, “Arthur, it is alright to be angry. It is not okay to hurt people because of it. He put both plates back on the tray on his bed and stood up.

Arthur's chest was heaving slightly and he braced himself from the punishment that was sure to come.

“Let me show you where the broom closet is.”

“Fuck off.”

Father Merlin sighed and stepped around the biggest patch of rice. He was gone only a moment, but it was long enough for Arthur to shove the pile of books and papers on the desk to the floor before climbing to his feet.

“This is a bit extreme, don't you think?” Father Merlin began, standing just inside the door. His lips were pressed into a thin line.

“Fuck _off_ ,” Arthur repeated as a flush began to crawl up his neck. His arms dangled at his sides but his hands were balled into fists again and the urge to hit   
something --someone-- was growing.

“You're angry,” Father Merlin said, taking a hesitant step forward. 

“Brilliant observation,” Arthur sneered. His fist lifted away from his body and the priest stepped back again.

Father Merlin cleared his throat and glanced past Arthur's shoulder at Mordred, who was so quiet, Arthur had nearly forgotten he was there. But Arthur wasn't stupid. He wasn't going to give up his advantage by taking his eyes off of Father Merlin. Their gazes remained warily locked.

“You're angry because you've been uprooted yet again,” Father Merlin prompted. “Is this the sixth time, in two years? Nowhere to rest your head. Nowhere to call ho--”

“Shut up,” Arthur warned.

“Nowhere to let your guard down. On edge all the time. I can't imagine how you must feel...”

“ _Shut up_.”

“Now we're getting somewhere,” The priest murmured, and he dared to have a look of self-satisfaction in his eyes.

“You think you know me?” Arthur approached again and this time, Father Merlin didn't flinch away.

“Of course I don't know you. We've only met today. But I've known people like you, Arthur--”

“There's nobody here like me,” Arthur sneered before he could stop himself.

“What? Children who've been discarded by the people who are supposed to care for them? Children who are grieving for loved ones lost? Angry, sad, explosive children who haven't been provided an outlet for their feelings?”

Arthur felt his cheek twitch and his lower lip start to quiver. He turned abruptly from the priest and swing his arms around his own head. It was all simmering there, beneath the surface. The rage, the hurt, and now, the affront at being read so well, so quickly. He whipped back, shrugging his shoulders to loosen them up.

“You. Don't. Know. Me!” He ground out between clenched teeth.

Father Merlin sized him up warily. “What are you doing, Arthur? Are you going to hit me? A teacher?”

“It's very tempting.”

“Yes, a lot of things are tempting, but that's what separates man from beast.”

“I've been called an animal before...”

“You have, and I'm sorry about that. You're not an animal, Arthur. You're a young man who's been hurt too many times in his life--”

Arthur swung abruptly, a poorly aimed punch that rounded sideways and spun him around in a half circle when Father Merlin sidestepped him. Before he could regain his balance and turn back, the priest was on him, skinny arms stronger than he'd expected, pinning his arms down.

“No!” Arthur yelled, swelling up, trying to free himself from what seemed more embrace than restraint. When that didn't work, he dropped down to the floor but Father Merlin moved with him.

“You're going to be okay. You can't push me away. I'm here and I care,” Father Merlin murmured. “It's okay. It's going to be okay.”


End file.
